


if my heart was a compass, you'd be north

by katarasvevo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Awkward Dancing, First Kiss, Fluff, Flustered Prompto, M/M, i needed to recover after chapter 9 and 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 02:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13285086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarasvevo/pseuds/katarasvevo
Summary: Prompto tries to get his feet out of the way, but he ends up stumbling into Noctis’s arms like the klutz that he likes to think that he isn’t. "Oops, sorry not sorry," Prompto manages stiffly, hyper-aware of the blush that must be on his face. "It's just that sometimes he can get, well, tongue-tied. I mean, you know, it's not every day you get to dance with a prince. Not that it was ever on the bucket list."This close Prompto can see the scatter of colours in Noctis's irises: indigo, dark blue, navy, storm-grey. Can feel Noctis's hot breath brush against his mouth. Can hear a slight chuckle in the exhale that he lets out. "Anything else that isn’t on your bucket list?" His tone is light and playful, but it renders Prompto breathless all the same.





	if my heart was a compass, you'd be north

**Author's Note:**

> after the motel scene, i knew my soul could not rest until i wrote a promptis fic

Altissia is beautiful in the daytime, but even more so come nightfall. When the sun finally dips down into the horizon, that’s when the city seems to breathe and pulse with life, radiant at the edges, moonlight blessing its spires and waterways with an unearthly, ethereal glow.

A fairytale setting come true, Prompto decides as he leans back against a pillar, watching the festival unfold before his eyes. Complete with unfairly good looking people—the soft-eyed girls in chiffon and shot silk, for example— crazy good food that would give Ignis a run for his money; sigh-inducing stretches of lilting music; and a brooding prince staring off into the distance like he’s got more important matters to think about than the festivities.

Which he does, but the whole point of them coming here was to loosen up and have fun, not wallow in pitch-black misery. That he could do some other time—preferably not in the presence of fireworks, because they’re kind of a big deal.

“C’mon, Noct, look up,” Prompto says, nudging Noctis’s ribs. “Aren’t they fantastic?”

Up above, starbursts of white, red, blue, and green explode across the inky sky, occasionally exposing flashes of grey-bellied clouds. Around, people clap, laugh, and shout at this marvelous display. Prompto almost joins them, because, hell yeah, it is pretty awesome.

Noctis nods absently. “Yeah. Super.”

“Oh, pfft, you’re no fun at all.” Prompto shakes his head. “Such a downer.” They spend the next several minutes like this, Prompto people-watching, Noctis lost in the tangle of this thoughts. Eventually, Prompto can’t take any more of this; Noctis’s unresponsiveness is seeping into the mood like cloth absorbing rainwater.

Just as he’s about to suggest that they try out the panna cotta on the dessert table, the music changes, and people start pairing up in the square. A mild wind picks up. The gossamer banners affixed to the wrought-iron street lamps ripple slightly, in time with the hypnotic swish of the women’s skirts.

Prompto turns to Noctis. Says, “Oh, we are _so_ dancing. And no, you won’t be able to worm your way out of this one, Your Royal Sadness. Yeah, I know, I know, since when have I ever put my foot down, but I’ll have you know that when I do, I do it with both feet stuck firmly onto the ground. Like so.” He gestures to his boots.

Honestly, Prompto expected Noctis to flip him off or something, so he isn't prepared for the “Wasn’t going to” that follows. And the mock bow. And the “Shall we have this dance?”

Prompto gapes at Noctis’s outstretched palm as he slips his own into it, and then they're both stumbling their way into the crowd, jostled around by elbows and laughter and the sheer magic of the place.

The gently swaying lanterns overhead bob as a breeze passes by. The lights stutter for a moment, and when they come to they’re a different colour this time: the dim, pale blue of a moon. It evens out the ridges of Noctis’s face, softens the shadows and faint scars. A lovely sight, that’s what it is.

"So, what happened to Loverboy Prompt?” Noctis teases, intertwining their fingers together. “That smoothtalker gone off to a holiday or something? Chocobo catch his tongue?”

"Oh, he's—he’s still very much in attendance, thank you very much," Prompto sputters out, indignant. That one encounter with Cindy that’s running through his mind right now is really, really not helping. At all. Plus, it almost feels like Noctis is purposely trying to make Prompto remember his romantic failures. Jerk. "But the guy’s allowed to have a break every once in a while. Can't expect him to hang around all the time."

Noctis shrugs. Says, "Fair enough," and then winces abruptly. A dancing couple nearby edges away. "Hey, ouch, you’re stepping on my toes.”

Prompto tries to get his feet out of the way, but he ends up stumbling into Noctis’s arms like the klutz that he likes to think that he isn’t. "Oops, sorry not sorry," Prompto manages stiffly, hyper-aware of the blush that must be on his face. "It's just that sometimes he can get, well, tongue-tied. I mean, you know, it's not every day you get to dance with a prince. Not that it was ever on the bucket list."

This close Prompto can see the scatter of colours in Noctis's irises: indigo, dark blue, navy, storm-grey. Can feel Noctis's hot breath brush against his mouth. Can hear a slight chuckle in the exhale that he lets out. "Anything else that isn’t on your bucket list?" His tone is light and playful, but it renders Prompto breathless all the same.

Prompto's not sure how it happens, to be honest. Or who starts it. One moment they're staring into each other's eyes —exactly the kind of thing that would come straight out of Gladiolus's secret romance novels—and the next Noctis's lips are pressed up against his. Cheesy as it may sound, the kiss is actually the stuff dreams are made of, going by the way it turns Prompto lightheaded, weak-kneed, and kind of dopey.

If this dance is an awkward shuffle of limbs and feet, Prompto’s heart makes it looks like a professionally choreographed ballroom waltz in comparison. It's gone batshit crazy—arrhythmic and bouncy and five kinds of wild. Almost as bad as the voretooths they took down just two weeks ago.

Noctis's lips are ... softer than he originally thought. Not that he's spent time thinking about them. Not that this thought isn't an absolute first for him.

"Oh, boy," Prompto squeaks out after they pull away, burying his burning cheeks into his palms.  The leather of his gloves only makes it worse—still warm from Noctis's touch. Too warm. "This is most definitely one of them." When he finally removes his hands from his face, he forcefully returns his gaze to Noctis's face and finds, with no small amount of consolation, that he just looks as shy and lost as he does.

"Whoa. Just. Um. Wow," Prompto breathes out for lack of better words. It makes sense; Prompto’s always been rubbish at dealing with these kinds of situations, anyway, given their lamentable rarity in his life."That was—that was—super awesome, I guess? Like, yeah, what a once in a lifetime opportunity. A kiss from a prince. It would be such a shame to miss out on that."

Despite the high flush riding the curve of his cheeks, Noctis says, "Just once?"

"Yeah, you're right, why not make it twice? Or thrice? Or even four times, or—you know what, why call it limited edition at all?" Prompto's aware he's babbling nonsense at this point, and that he should maybe shut up before he lets slip a smorgasbord of new material for his friends to tease him mercilessly over.

And then Noctis is reaching out, taking Prompto's face in his hands, the pad of one thumb tracing the line  of Prompto's jaw, saying, "Prompto, stop talking," before drawing him in for another kiss.

It's not as sloppy and dry as their first, like Noctis has gained some familiarity with the topography—the lay of the land, so to speak—and as a consequence this second experience is miles better. Dimly Prompto wonders by how much the tenth would feel better— provided that there'll even be a third, not to get too ahead of himself.

But when Noctis tugs him to a quiet corner, away from prying eyes and the loudness, and into a hushed, comfortable not-quite silence surrounded by fragrant hedges, Prompto, in his dazed condition, thinks: yeah, there most definitely will be one, and then some.

**Author's Note:**

> if you listen carefully in the distance you can hear ignis say, “i’ve come up with a new recipe.”


End file.
